Inner Circle

by September 30, 2013 0 comments

There is no exit here
No sweet release of sleep, no prayer to soft salvation.
There is only death and degradation of soul.
Not life, no properties of love or fond relation.
Trial of existence with no end.
Yet in this ceaseless horror, in this carnal Hell,
in this my filthy home, cold, without mercy,
in this cage of unrelenting dark,
a spark, a circle of red and black calls to enter.
Here, where awareness centers, threads of rotten vein
play at art, at shocking beauty.

editors note:

If no art, ugliness; if no songs, frustration; if no verses, monotony – no play. – mh

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